The Gift
by theanonymouslibrarians
Summary: Bartimaeus decides that Faquarl could use some company. Companion fic to my other one, Small Talk.


The Gift

By the anonymouslibrarians

Note: I do not own the Bartimaeus Sequence or any of its characters

"Well?" I asked, after an uncomfortable minute of silence. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"Why?" Faquarl finally said, looking up at me, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Well, I suppose I couldn't blame him. It was odd enough for me, too. It had been millenia since we'd been able to lower our guards around one another. Even now, I wasn't entirely sure Faquarl wouldn't decide that he could work out a way back to the Other Place on his own and decide to torch London out of spite. But he hadn't actually tried to hurt Nathaniel, Kitty, or myself since the Glass Palace incident1 so for all intents and purposes, with no masters to tell us otherwise, we were now friends allies.

(1 Well, except for that time he'd lobbed an iron frying pan at my head, but to be fair I had spoiled the ending of the first Game of Thrones book for him. Then again, how was I supposed to know he hadn't read it yet?)

"I thought you looked bored." I explained. 2 "I figured you could use some company. Besides, he reminded me of you. He likes kitchens, too. Or maybe just the food."3

(2 Morose. Listless. Homicidal. Each of these would have been a more accurate adjective. Faquarl had even stopped responding to my attempts at banter during the past week. But I wasn't about to point this out to him. The only thing more dangerous than Faquarl in one of his moods was Faquarl after you'd pointed out to him that he was being moody. The last time I'd made that mistake had been in Pompeii, and look what happened there!

3 He'd also taken several swipes at me when I'd picked him out.)

Faquarl didn't respond. He was still peering into the carrier, probably checking its inhabitant out on all the different planes, trying to spot a trap.

"Look," I continued, "I got you the supplies, too." I took out the food, the bowls, and the toiletries. "You just pour the litter in this pan and then when it gets dirty-"

"I know how to take care of a cat!" Faquarl snapped.

"Just making sure!" I said quickly. "Can't be too careful!4 Now, I'm sure he's hungry. Let's just-"

(4 Sure, Faquarl had managed to survive as long as I had, but from the looks of Hopkins' body, Faquarl hadn't quite gotten the hang of taking care of a human. It had grown flabby recently, although in previous months it had been too thin. He seemed to go in cycles. A cat, though, was much simpler. Or so I hoped. I'd never had one.)

"No!" Faquarl tried to stop me, but I'd already opened the door and the cat shot out, disappearing around the corner.

"He can't wait to see his new home!" I returned Faquarl's glower with a bright smile. "Now, let's set out some food so he doesn't get hungry."

…..

"Bartimaeus," Faquarl growled, following the other djinni into the kitchen. "I want you to take that beast back."

He opened his refrigerator and rummaged around until he found the yak stew he'd made the other night. Some thing about this body of Hopkins...something about this world...made him feel...despondent. It was an odd feeling. It wasn't exactly pain. Nor was it

anger, or sorrow, or any familiar feeling. Rather it was...it was like the absence of all feeling. What he imagined humans meant when they said they felt numb. It made

him want to eat and eat until it went away. Not that it ever did, but the flavors were something pleasant at least.

"Back where?" Bartimaeus asked, filling a dish with kibble. "He doesn't have another home."

"Then you give him one!" Faquarl ladled the stew into a bowl and stuck it in microwave. "I don't want a pet." He turned to the face his visitor, leaning against the counters.

Bartimaeus was now filling a dish with water, "Well, you may not want one, but maybe you need one!"

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh...you know. You...you said that you had a rodent problem."

"Indeed..." Bartimaeus had a shifty look on his face.

Faquarl wasn't quite sure what to make of this "gift." Still, the animal appeared to be an ordinary cat on all seven planes. At least, as ordinary as any cat cold be said to be. Perhaps he'd find out too late that Hopkins had a cat allergy.

The microwave dinged and he took the soup out. He turned away, searching through the silverware drawer for a spoon. When he turned back, though, his bowl was tainted. That thing...the cat was perched on the counter, licking at Faquarl's soup.

It was a raggedy thing. Black and orange fur that was thinning in places. A chunk missing from an ear and a squinty eye. Still, as it lapped up the broth, it gazed at Faquarl, and there was something in its eyes...something Faquarl could only remember seeing a handful of times. Once from a chef in Sparta. Once from a child, too young to understand that the djinni who had just saved her would have killed her if he had been summoned by a different master. And occasionally from other spirits. It was gratitude.

Tentatively, Faquarl reached out, holding his hand just an inch from the cat's face. The creature sniffed his fingers, and then rubbed its face against him in a gesture that could only be affection.

Off to the side, Bartimaeus was looking at Faquarl with a rather smug look. Gathering himself, Faquarl reluctantly drew his hand away. "Alright." He said, abruptly. "It can stay. At least until it catches all the mice."

"Excellent! I knew you-"

"You, on the other hand, can get out."


End file.
